Page 16 of The House on Prytania
“I’m sorry,” I said, embarrassed to see that I was the only one not crying. Even Christopher had looked away to wipe his eyes.
I waited for the wave of sympathy, and it passed over me like a brief rain burst that was gone before a person had a chance to get wet. It wasn’t that I was completely without compassion. What had happened to Sunny was horrible. Maybe even worse than what had happened to me. Life wasn’t fair. I knew that. But some perverse part of me clung tight to the resentment that her family had missed her and had wanted her back. Before Jolene had a chance to slap me into next week (her words) if I didn’t behave, I doubled down on my efforts to be nice.
“What are your plans now?” I asked with my best kindergarten teacher voice.
Wadding a tissue in her hand, Sunny smiled at me with reddened eyes. “Beau has offered me a job at JR Properties, helping Jolene with some of the scheduling and paperwork, since she’s doing so much site work now. He said that I could help you with your renovations, too, sort of learn the ropes. Maybe go back to school and get a degree in preservation or something. I’m a quick study, and I’m really interested in learning.”
I managed to keep the smile on my face as I turned to Beau, expecting some sort of recognition or apology for knowingly overstepping into my life. Again.
Instead, he said, “Thibaut and Jorge have already given their two thumbs-up. I brought Sunny to the cottage to meet the team and they’re already like extended family. We figured she could do coffee and lunch runs while learning some of the basics, so it’s a win-win.Too bad she wasn’t there when you were tiling the upstairs bath. She would probably have pointed out that you were tiling yourself into a corner before it was too late.” A chuckle rumbled in his throat as he sat back against the sofa.
I took a generous swallow of water to prevent myself from saying what I really wanted to. “Excuse me for a moment, please,” I said as I stood. “I have a horrible headache and need some Tylenol.” I smiled briefly in Mimi’s direction. “I know where it is.”
Jolene reached down toward her feet, to the purse that matched her shoes. “I’ve got some right...”
I sent her a warning glance as I strode past her, hoping she would understand that I needed to leave the room. “I’ll be right back.” Walking quickly past the portrait of Charles Ryan, I felt his painted eyes following me as I ran up the stairs.
CHAPTER 6
I took the stairs two at a time, then paused when I was halfway down the hallway, in front of the closed door that led into what I mentally referred to as Mimi’s storage room (I wasn’t sure what she called the bizarre collection of artifacts from unsolved crimes that she stored on endless shelves beyond the locked door). Mimi had the gift of psychometry, which, when she touched objects, gave her insight into what appeared to be unsolvable crimes. Desperate families had come to see Mimi as a last resort, and she’d been able to help many grieving relatives of victims. It wasn’t a room I wanted to see the inside of again. I still had nightmares about the Frozen Charlottes in the curio cabinet against the far wall.
Realizing that I actually did have a headache, I walked to the black and white bathroom next door and plucked out the familiar red and white bottle from the medicine cabinet.
“Nola?”
I jerked back, dropping the bottle into the porcelain sink with a loud clatter. Turning, I saw Sunny standing outside the bathroom door with an apologetic smile.
“I’m so sorry—did I startle you?”
I pressed the heel of my hand against my chest, feeling the heavy pumping of my heart. “No, not at all. Why would you think that sneaking up behind someone and saying their name would be startling?”
“I guess I deserve that. I am so sorry. My parents were light sleepers, so I grew up learning how to move really quietly.”
I gave her points for understanding sarcasm and for her apology. Shaking out two pills into my palm, I said, “Did you need some, too?”
She shook her head. “No. I wanted to speak with you alone. I hope that’s all right.”
I hid my surprise. “Sure.” I closed the medicine cabinet and faced her. “What about?”
“Can we go into my room? Just in case anyone else comes up. I don’t think I want us to be overheard.”
“Okay.” I caught the faint scent of cigarettes as she stood close to me. “You smoke?”
“Yeah. Trying to quit. Again. I actually did stop before the car accident, and then”—she shrugged—“I started again. Please don’t tell Mimi. I don’t want to disappoint her.”
I thought it was an odd request, but I nodded anyway. My mind was so occupied with reasons why she’d need to speak with me that I almost didn’t notice that she was opening the door to the storage room. “Wait—” I stopped at the threshold. Instead of the endless shelves of detritus from broken lives, a mahogany sleigh bed sat against a wall across from a pair of pretty yellow and white toile chairs and matching ottomans. These were placed in front of a fireplace that I hadn’t even noticed during my previous visits to the room. Bright light flooded through the tall windows that had been covered with heavy draperies, obscuring all light. The curio cabinet—thank goodness—was gone.
“That was quick,” I said. “What did they do with all the... stuff that was in here?”
“You mean the excess inventory? They moved it to the shop onRoyal Street. I’m not really sure why it was here to begin with, except that it’s a big house and they had the space. Mimi’s working really hard to give me a room that I love and has hired a designer. I’ve never worked with a designer before—it wasn’t something my parents ever really considered—but I have to say that I’m having fun with it. Jenny’s pretty cool and has lots of great ideas that fit with my personality. It’s just that...”
I waited for her to finish.
With a tight throat, she said, “It’s just that I wish my parents could see it. This house alone would have made my mom swoon.”
For the first time, I felt a connection to this lost-and-found girl, felt bonded by our wandering along the same lonely path, searching for the way home. “I get it. My mom died when I was almost fourteen. She was a musician and taught me everything she knew about playing guitar and writing music. There are still times now when I hear a song or think of a lyric and I turn to say something and realize all over again that she’s not there.”
An odd expression that looked a lot like panic flashed across her face before quickly vanishing. “I want to say I’m sorry, but that’s not really enough, is it?”
